


fly me to the moon

by Schneezed



Series: A Retainer’s Cage, A King’s Key [2]
Category: Persona 3, Persona 5
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, rrau, this is why i do when im not playing ffxiv, writing rarepare fics that maybe fifty people will read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 19:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schneezed/pseuds/Schneezed
Summary: Stories are written to be told; yet Akira’s are filled with words he’d never wished Minato could see.





	fly me to the moon

Too tired… not going to make it.

Whoever chose to build the castle with a million steps leading up to the royal bedrooms was an absolute sadist. After almost eight hours of partying and keeping up with diplomats from all over the kingdom, all I wanted was to sleep in a warm bed, and to curl up in ball. 

Yet, here I am, glaring at the stairs. Realistically, I know this will do nothing. But maybe - just maybe - they’ll force the top floor to fall to the bottom if I hate them hard enough.

I let out a hefty sigh and leaned my back against the wall. Light filled the stairwell with varying shades of blue, emptying into the building via the stain glass window that stood above my head. 

I wonder if it’s still as beautiful as the last time I checked? It was impossible to tell; looking at any of said windows made my gut twist in ways it shouldn’t. Unsurprisingly so, when you consider just whom they depict. 

I don’t deserve to look at them anymore. 

Never again.

Never.

No. No, no, no. We’re not doing this again. 

“Akira… I need Akira.” Standing upright, my feet slowly dragged the rest of my body towards the first step. “He should be in his room by now. Only five floors to go.”

I groaned loudly, before beginning my ascent. 

The heels of my shoes clicked against the cold stone stairs; a sound that managed to give me at least something to focus on, other than my own thoughts. 

How does Mitsuru do it? By the time she left this evening, she was still wide awake, had drunk at least eight glasses of wine, and spoken with over three dozen people. Granted, I’d managed to keep up my facade until the crowd had left as well, but she seemed so much more alive than me.

Or perhaps I was too dense to notice any flaws in her act. Most likely, a mix of the both. She always was a brilliant business woman - an ability to keep up with others was simply a gift she had. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little envious.

And then, there’s her retainer: Akihiko Sanada. An attractive man that everybody in the room wished to get near. Both him and Mitsuru had such a good relationship. They clearly cared for each other, and had a bond that wasn’t just a retainer and his governess. Together, they gave off this sense of strength that I could only dream of. 

The Fall feels so long ago, and yet only now had me and Akira began picking up the pieces that remained of our former relationship. We’ve been distant so long that I’m not even sure if we’ll ever get back to the stage we once were. 

I should be happy for Mitsuru. But at the same time I’m mad at her. 

“God, I’m a terrible friend.” I spoke aloud, finally walking up the millionth flight of stairs. At least my rambling is good for passing time. 

Climbing the final slabs of stone, I could feel my legs shaking. “Finally.”

Akira’s room was the first on the left, closest to the stairwell, allowing him easy access to the floor above. Just in case anything were to ever happen to me. 

My hand jiggled the doorknob, yet it didn’t yield any result. The door was locked. 

“Akira.” I knocked thrice on the door. “Are you in there?”

“Need a Retainer’s attention, My King?”

I turned to my right, noticing a tall man standing over me, a hand over his chest as he spoke with a sincere tone. “Oh, Akechi, good evening.”

“Is something the matter? Pardon my manners, but you sound rather… tipsy.”

He wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t one for getting drunk, but sometimes it’s easy to get lost when you’ve been awake for practically the entire day. Almost midnight and I’m at the door of one retainer, trying to think of how I can tell the other to go away.

It’s not that I don’t like Akechi - obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t have allowed him in my court - but he’s not Akira. Akechi gives good advice, Akira gives good cuddles. And what I want right now is a nice hug rather than being given life tips by a man who actually has his life together. 

“I’m fine, I just needed to speak with Akira for a moment. Do you know where he is?”

“The washroom, I believe.” Replied the brunette. “But I do believe I have a spare key. Shall I let you in?”

I nodded before letting out a sigh of relief. At the very least, I could fall asleep somewhere other than the hallway carpet. 

Although, admittedly, something felt off. “Akechi, why do you have a key to Akira’s room? I thought he had the only one.”

“Emergencies are rare, but they do arise, so he had a copy made for me. Just to be safe.” Goro giggled lightly before clicking the lock and swinging open the door. 

The room was dark, with no light coming in from anywhere other than the corridor’s candlelight. 

“I’ll be across the way if you need me.” Akechi strolled away with a smile, folding his arms behind his back and making his way. 

I entered the bleak space, reaching around underneath the mounted candle on the wall, finding a small shelf which contained a box of matches. Having struck one match against the stone, I lit up the wick and shut the door. 

Now, it would be much more polite of me to stay awake and await the man who actually owned this bed. Or I could collapse and worry about the consequences in the morning. Right now, I like that later option roughly a thousand times more. 

I undid the ties on my shirt, walking over to the red sheets, before something caught my eye. Upon his pillow, Akira had placed a small, leatherbound journal. The cover contained naught other than his initials in gold lettering, and a string to keep it shut. 

“...Do I dare?” This wasn’t his journal. That was something he kept on him at all times within one of his pockets. So, if he’s just leaving it lying around, it can’t be that personal. Right?

I sat on the bed and placed the pages in my lap. With a gentle pull, the string came undone, allowing my hand to open the cover. 

“Draft book…? What does that mean?” I began to flick through the words, and all became clear. These were Akira’s stories. During our childhood, he kept something similar; Akira always loved writing. He’d written stories for me on more than one occasion, in fact, usually to help me sleep. Sometimes he’d lie there with me and narrate while before I succumb to exhaustion. 

There were all sorts in here - original pieces, reimaginings, notes, even small doodles in the corners of the pages. It was his own little world to immerse himself in any story he wished. Most of the works were unfinished with many words scribbled out and seemingly rewritten. 

Was it bad for me to read this? I wasn’t sure I had the right to even touch the book, honestly. But I know nothing about the Akira would exists here and now; if I want to know him, to love him again, then I have to know more about him. This could be a good thing. And - maybe - I’ll actually believe that, if I say it enough times. 

Unable to choose a fable, I simply dropped the book on it’s spine, leaving the fate of the story up to the universe. Only for it to fall and show the back cover, since that’s how physics work. 

I huffed as I picked it up, deciding that I’d just read the last story in the book. Luckily, it seemed to be fairly short, only having to count back two pages to find the start and (hence) the title. 

“Fly Me To The Moon.” I read aloud. “Let’s see if you’re as talented as I remember, Akira.”


End file.
